


Captives

by LMA



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMA/pseuds/LMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Sinclair joins Delenn and Lennier for the rituals of Valen's Day, Catherine Sakai runs into misadventure in the Damocles Sector.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captives

“Captives”  
By Laura M. Appelbaum 

 

“... So there we are on a leaky raft in the middle of a frozen river, drunk on wine samples, with one paddle, a husky dog and two other cadets when she suddenly remembers she has class in forty-five minutes. Class is not the problem. Staying afloat and alive, that's the problem,” Sinclair concluded to his amused audience. Ivanova and Garibaldi laughed but not as loudly as Catherine Sakai, who remembered the story first hand.  
“And no one ever found out who the dog belonged to,” she added, prompting another round of laughter at the table.  
“You were a lot of trouble back then, weren't you Jeff?” Garibaldi observed with a smile.  
“I wouldn't say I was trouble ...”  
“He was trouble. Didn't you almost get kicked out of prep school because of some prank you pulled on a priest?” Catherine reminded.  
“I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors,” Sinclair deadpanned, “but it was a Jesuit priest and two visiting Augustinian Recollects brothers.” Ivanova nearly spit out her drink.  
“Now you know why I go to such lengths to keep everyone from my past in the past,” Garibaldi offered. “Since Catherine's arrival we've learned all sorts of things about you that you probably wish we hadn't.”  
“Well, it's been nice knowing you all,” Sinclair began, rising as if he were going to walk off. Catherine pulled on his arm to get him to sit back down, and they all laughed again.  
“Oh no,” said Ivanova suddenly, “it's twenty three hundred hours and I have a shift in C and C in the morning. I have to go, but this has been great fun – we should do this again.”  
“Definitely,” agreed Garibaldi,  
“Next time it's Susan's turn to tell the stories,” Sinclair suggested.  
“Oh, I have nothing to tell – not like you two,” she demurred, pushing back her chair and standing up.  
“I'm not buying that, are you, Catherine? No, we're not buying it. Next time Ivanova tells all,” Garibaldi insisted. Ivanova smiled and shook her head before walking away with a wave.  
“I suppose we should be getting along too – I've got a full schedule for tomorrow,” Sinclair said, rising for real this time.  
“Me too – you know what they say; 'crime never takes a holiday.' How about you, Catherine?”  
“I have a four day trip planned out in the Damocles Sector.”  
“The Damocles Sector?” Garibaldi repeated, “there's been a lot of raider activity there lately.” He exchanged a concerned look with Sinclair.  
“In that case, maybe you should reconsider ...” Sinclair began. Sakai waved them both off.  
“I'll be fine. Besides, all I carry are atmospheric and soil samples.”  
“Still, I'd be awfully careful if I were you – the raiders have been amping up their attacks on all the major shipping lanes. You never know where they'll turn up next, but Sector 56 is a good bet,” Garibaldi warned with another glance at Sinclair.  
“I'm flying a survey ship. That's what I do – surveys. Planetary surveys. There's nothing on board for anyone to steal. No one is going to bother with me,” she insisted defensively. Garibaldi gave Sinclair an apologetic look, sorry he'd started the conversation and Sinclair sighed, knowing he'd hear more of her angry rebuttal on the way back to his quarters.

XXX

“I'm only saying, he's my Chief of Security. If he gives you a warning about something, it's for a good reason,” Sinclair asserted as he testily stuck his passkey into the door lock.  
“And I keep telling you, that's probably a valid warning for a luxury liner or a transport ship, but not an operation like mine. Besides, everything in space is dangerous. I'm tired of you worrying every time I set out on a new job.  
“I worry because I love you,” he said as he stripped off his jacket and threw it onto the chair. “Why is that so bad?”  
“Because I don't need anyone to worry about me!”  
“It's not about need, it's just what people do for each other.”  
“Well lay off it.”  
“I don't know that I can do that.”  
“Then at least keep it to yourself,” she said, kissing him to take the edge off of her demand. Sinclair rolled his eyes and sighed.  
“Come on, let's get to bed,” he concluded, the argument laid to rest for the night.

XXX

“Hold the Line! No one gets through!”  
“Jeff?”  
“No, Mitchell! Stay in formation!”  
“Jeff? Jeff.”  
“Wha … oh,” exclaimed Sinclair, waking up to find himself in bed beside Sakai.  
“You were having that dream again. But it's alright now,” she assured him as he blinked and sat up, trying to return to reality.  
“I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.  
“It's okay. I just feel bad that it's back.”  
“The dreams never really left. I've just gotten quieter. Usually. What time is it?”  
“Around four. You've got time to sleep more.”  
“If I can,” he sighed. “Damn. It always stirs me up.”  
“Well at least it's been about a week since it woke us up anyway. Maybe that's a sign you'll stop dreaming it. Sinclair grimaced at her.  
“I doubt it.” He tossed aside the covers and headed for the bathroom as Sakai watched him sympathetically.  
“Do you need to talk?” she asked routinely upon his return, even though the answer was always the same.  
“No.” He climbed back into his side of the bed and laid down again. Sakai snuggled closer to him and put her head on his chest. “Go back to sleep – I'll be fine,” he insisted, stroking the hair alongside her temple.  
“Have you ever seen a professional about it?”  
“What? And admit I've been having the same nightmare almost nightly for the last decade? No. It's not exactly something I want on my record.”  
“It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm sure other veterans have the same problem. Maybe there's a medication or technique that would help.”  
“I've done my own research. There's not. Let's just go back to sleep, alright?”

XXX

“Did she at least file her flight plans?” Sinclair asked Garibaldi the next morning as they stood in the latter's office.  
“Yeah, it's all here; coordinates, due dates. If she's late in returning, we'll know it.”  
“Well thank God for that,” breathed Sinclair.  
“Hey, I'm sorry for causing that argument last night ...”  
“Don't worry about it. It's just an old point of contention. She hates the idea of anyone questioning her actions or capabilities, even when there are good reasons why.”  
“Where do you think that comes from?”  
“The first time we met I told her she wasn't Earth Force material. That didn't help. But I think it goes back earlier than that, to before I knew her. At any rate, I'm not allowed to show I'm apprehensive any more.”  
“She's got rules, doesn't she?”  
“They're mostly about this one thing. And I'm sure I've got some myself. But this job has taught me all about compromise, so ...”  
“Relationships. Too much trouble if you ask me.”  
“Ah, but the rewards,” Sinclair said, smiling softly. He turned grave quickly however. “Hey, Mike, have you turned up any more about that issue I asked you about?”  
“No, I'm afraid not.” Garibaldi went to the door of his office and looked up and down the hall, then came back inside. “The trail runs cold once you get to the Minbaris' involvement. Why? Something happen?”  
“No, just wondering. I guess I'd hoped you'd found out what Earth Gov made of the Minbari demand and why no one ever told me about it. Over the past year it's come to seem like a lot of people know or suspect what happened, but that no one knows the why.”  
“Wish I could help you more. I did find out one thing – about the Grey Council.” Sinclair's eyebrows went up. “They live aboard a Cruiser.” Sinclair nodded.  
“Like the one I was taken aboard. So that is who I saw. How'd you find out?”  
“One day I ran into Lennier and tried to get him to tell me about Minbari government; I made out like I was interested in whether or not they have a police force. All he would tell me, hell, all it seemed like he knew himself, was that they were ruled by a group of nine founded by that guy Valen and lived on a Cruiser 'traveling the stars.' Then he suggested I talk to Delenn, but no way in hell am I going to do that.”  
“Good. I don't want her to get suspicious about what we know. I keep running it all over again in my mind, hoping I can remember something else but ...”  
“Nothing?”  
“I guess Minbari telepaths are good at what they do. I dream it every night. But I never get further than seeing her face. Most nights I don't even leave my Starfury.”  
“Wow, that's rough. Sorry to hear that. By the way, I heard Earth Gov had to let your kidnapper go once they confirmed his mind had been wiped.”  
“Yeah, I heard that too. Who knows if it's true.”  
“You're starting to sound as paranoid as I am.”  
“There've been a lot of suspicious events this year. I wonder sometimes if a Human telepath could break through for me, but I can't risk involving anyone else.”  
“No, I don't think you should either.”  
“On another matter … that question you asked me that I didn't have an answer for? After my bout with the war machine? I've got a piece of it anyway. Catherine.”  
“Oh yeah? That's good; I'm glad to hear it. Maybe the rest will fall in place for you soon.”  
“For now this is good enough,” Sinclair smiled.

XXX

“This is the survey ship Skydancer to Babylon Control, I'm ready to launch.”  
“Confirmed, Skydancer. Follow beacon Alpha three to departure gate twelve.”  
“Beacon Alpha three to gate twelve, acknowledged.” Catherine typed in some numbers on her control panel, double checked her restraining belts and nudged the joystick forward. Within moments she was steering her way out of the Station and toward the jumpgate. “Computer, set course to Sector fifty-six, planet Vedit ten. Initiate jumpgate sequence.”  
“Course set for Sector fifty-six, planet Vedit ten. Jumpgate sequence initiated.”  
“Jump on my mark, mark.” The gate burst open before her and she flew into it and hyperspace beyond. Now there was nothing to do but the waiting. She brought up a book on her viewscreen. Though she'd never admit it to Sinclair, she picked Homer's Odyssey.

XXX

Sinclair was walking through the Central Corridor when he heard a familiar voice calling him. He stopped and turned around.  
“Yes, Mr. Lennier?”  
“The honorific is unnecessary for one of my status, Commander. You may simply call me Lennier.” Sinclair bowed his head to the Minbari.  
“Very good, then, Lennier. How can I help you?”  
“In three days, according to our tradition, it will be exactly nine hundred and ninety nine years since Valen first appeared among our people. This is always an important day, but the precise number of years that have passed make this year especially auspicious.” Sinclair continued to look at him, waiting for a relevant statement. “There are several important rituals associated with this day that must be carried out precisely ...”  
“If you need a space on the Station to perform these rituals, consider it done.”  
“That is very kind, Commander, but Delenn's quarters will be quite sufficient. As I was saying, this is our holiest day and it is imperative that all Minbari mark the occasion properly.” Sinclair tried his best to look interested, wondering what this monologue had to do with him. “Delenn has asked me to extend an invitation for you to join us in this celebration.”  
“I don't recall this event being on the ambassadorial calendar.”  
“It is not, Commander. Ambassador Delenn did not think certain members of the Council would attend with the proper spirit. Ambassador Mollari, for example.” Sinclair nodded in understanding. “But it would not be appropriate to invite some of the Ambassadors and not the others. Your position as Commander of this Station and as a personal friend is of course different, and it is Delenn's wish that you would be able to attend.”  
“I presume other Minbari will be attending?”  
“Why yes. Delenn and I will both be there.”  
“No one else?”  
“The number three is sacred to us. Celebrations are observed in multiples of three. You would be the third, which is the minimally required number of participants in order to represent a community. Our celebrations are all communal.”  
“I see. And this is in three days from now?”  
“Yes.”  
“I assume that's not a coincidence?”  
“There are no coincidences, Commander. Or so Valen said.”  
“l'll see what I can do about clearing some time in my schedule. How long should it take to perform these rituals?”  
“Not long,” answered Lennier, “no more than nine hours.”  
“Nine hours?” Sinclair repeated incredulously. “That's, that's a considerable amount of time out of my day.” It is my day, he thought silently. Lennier looked crestfallen. “But I suppose in the name of better Earth-Minbari relations I'll see what I can arrange.” Lennier smiled.  
“That is most gracious of you, Commander,” he exclaimed happily. “With your permission I will let Delenn know that you will be joining us.”  
“Being unfamiliar with this occasion … is there anything I should bring? Any particular garment I need to wear? Something I should avoid doing?”  
“Not at all, Commander. Simply your presence will be enough. And thank you.” Sinclair inclined his head and Lennier bowed, his hands forming a triangle in front of him. Sinclair continued his journey, cutting short his routine tour of the Station and going instead directly to his office. He called Lt. Commander Ivanova to ask her to join him there.  
“Commander?” she greeted him. Sinclair gestured for her to sit.  
“Lt. Commander. I have a request to make of you … I've been asked to attend some sort of Minbari religious ceremony on Thursday. Unfortunately, of course, our weekly schedule is already set ...”  
“And you need me to cover for you? Consider it done.”  
“Before you accept … it would be a double shift for you.”  
“Not that you have asked for any of those since Ms. Sakai's arrival,” she observed pointedly, then frowned. “How long is this ceremony going to be that you need me to cover an entire shift?” Sinclair rolled his eyes.  
“Mr. Lennier assures me it won't take that long. Only nine hours.”  
“Nine hours? That's 'not that long' to the Minbari? How many hours do their more complicated rituals last?”  
“I hope never to find out,” Sinclair grimaced. “Feel free to decline and I'll send my apologies to ...”  
“No, no, I'll do it. I wouldn't want to disrupt our relationship with the Minbari – and I would suggest, sir, that you do not either.”  
“Oh trust me, Lt. Commander, I've no intention of being on the opposing side of the Minbari again.” He was silent a moment, then addressed his XO more informally. “I can't help but notice how many of Delenn's 'requests' seem to be orders.”  
“She is quite … forceful.”  
“The thing is, she didn't invite me herself – she had Lennier do it. But it still seemed like I had to say yes.”  
“The diplomatic aspects of your assignment seem to be the most difficult to me,” she admitted. “But perhaps you'll learn something of interest. We still know so little about the Minbari.”  
“True. And I'll admit some personal curiosity. This will be a chance for me to get a better look at their culture.”  
“Better you than me. Sir.” Sinclair smiled wryly. Ivanova stood up, began to leave, then paused in the doorway. “Liquor is obviously out, so I suggest you bring them a nice honey cake.”  
“Honey cake?”  
“It's a Jewish thing. Every holiday is improved by the inclusion of honey cake.”  
“Lennier said I didn't need to bring anything.”  
“Honey cake, Commander. Trust me.”  
“Where am I supposed to find this delicacy?”  
“You could bake one; it's a very simple set of ingredients, assuming you can get honey.” Sinclair frowned.  
“It's my job to make sure nothing catastrophic happens aboard the Station,” he replied. “This includes me near an oven.” Ivanova smiled the small smile she allowed herself while on duty.  
“It is also your job to solve these dilemmas, Commander,” she pointed out, then turned away, her braided hair bouncing against her back. Sinclair sighed.

XXX

“No! Don't eat the freaking Cattle of the Sun, you morons,” Sakai shouted at her book before pausing it and checking to see that she was still on course for the next hyperspace beacon. So much of her job was idle time, yet somehow she never grew bored of it. There were books and vids to look at, music to listen to, the sheer mystery of hyperspace to experience. The most fun of course, was to fly in normal space, where she could choose to turn off the computers and navigate herself. One of Sinclair's many charms was that he shared the same love of space flight, even if he had been a jerk the first time he'd introduced her to it. 

She'd spent a lot of time thinking about him this trip, what with reading his favorite book and their recent recounting of their days together at the Academy. It was hard to believe how young and innocent they'd both been back then, before the War. Besides passing her courses, her biggest preoccupations were finding out where the party was that night and following Sinclair into his next caper. Who would have expected the serious turn things would take after graduation? And who would think they'd all end up living together, side by side on Babylon 5, the Humans and the Minbari, only twelve years after the conflict began? 

The War wasn't over for Sinclair though, given the nightmares, but at least he was past the flashbacks that used to plague him. Those were really bad. She'd be talking to him and then suddenly realize he was looking right through her, oblivious to his surroundings, watching some catastrophic scene of destruction play itself out before his glazed eyes. It could take seconds or many long minutes before he returned to the real world, but not before he'd recited his name, rank and serial number, as if he'd been taken prisoner somewhere. An impossibility. The Minbari took no prisoners. They just kept on killing until one day, they stopped. Who could ever understand such a people?

Where they were now in their relationship was both so comfortable and yet so passionate she couldn't really describe it. They no longer fought about his devotion to his career and they'd put the other topics of contention they had to rest just as easily. If only she could get him to abandon that paternalistic concern he had for her. It seemed to extend to the entire Station and everyone on board it; as if being in charge made him everyone's father. She supposed though, that this was one irritating habit of his, like stealing the covers in his sleep, that she'd have to get used to.  
“Proximity alert. Unidentified vessel detected.”  
“Show me.” Her screen filled with a bright spot that eventually revealed itself to be a small, triangular-shaped fighter headed straight towards her. “Shit, raiders,” she said, recognizing the configuration. “Garibaldi was right.”  
“Another vessel detected.”  
“Where?” Following closely behind the first ship was another. And another. And another. “Maximum burn,” she ordered, knowing she was still four hours from her unpopulated destination. Hopefully, the raiders were headed somewhere else, or would decide not to pursue her. Skydancer was just a survey ship, after all. She'd be fine.

XXX

“So then Ivanova insisted I bring some sort of cake,” Sinclair complained to Garibaldi as the two ate leaning over a pizza box in Garibaldi's quarters.  
“Well yeah, you can't go to someone's party without bringing a gift.”  
“This isn't a party, it's a religious ceremony.”  
“Same difference,” Garibaldi said between bites. “Bring 'em some nice cannoli.”  
“Cannoli?”  
“Yeah, it's an Italian dessert ...”  
“I know what it is. Where would I get it?”  
“Import some.”  
“This event is in three days.”  
“Oh. Then you're out of luck. Unless you make some yourself.”  
“Contrary to popular belief on this Station, baking was not part of the course curriculum for fighter pilots at the Academy. I'd probably poison us all and set our relationship back a decade,” he remarked, tossing a piece of crust back into the box.  
“Okay. Bring a box of chocolates. Everyone loves chocolate.”  
“If I'm going to spend half a week's salary, I want to spend it on something Catherine will be enjoying.”  
“Picky, picky. You don't want to insult them by showing up with nothing.”  
“Lennier said that was fine.”  
“Well sure he did. You can't expect someone to ask for a gift for their own event, can you?” Sinclair fell back in his chair, defeated.  
“You're both saying this just to give me a hard time.”  
“No, I really think you need to bring something.”  
“How about flowers?”  
“What, are you asking Delenn out on a date? I don't think Catherine's gonna like that.”  
“A plant?”  
“Who's sick in MedLab?”  
“This is ridiculous.”  
“Maybe you shouldn't have accepted their invitation if you were going to be such a tight-wad.”  
“Fine. I'll bring chocolates and take it out of the Station's operations budget.”  
“Hmm. You know now that I think about it, there's caffeine in chocolate. Can the Minbari consume caffeine? I've never seen Delenn drink coffee, have you?” Garibaldi said with a mischievous smile. “Maybe that acts like alcohol on them. Better you go with cannoli.”  
Sinclair threw up his arms.  
“Some help you are.”  
“I'm just looking out for your reputation.”  
“My reputation?”  
“Sure. You don't want people saying that the Commander of Babylon 5 is the kind of guy who shows up empty-handed to a party.” Sinclair closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side as he sighed.  
“It's a religious event, not a party.”  
“Holy day, holiday, what's the difference?”  
“All nine hours of this thing I'll be thinking of you – and cursing silently.” Sinclair promised.  
“Wait, it's nine hours?”'  
“Lennier says that's a short while.”  
“Wow. I'm glad I'm not you,” Garibaldi said, obliviously picking up the crust Sinclair discarded and eating it.  
“Thanks,” Sinclair scowled.  
“I wonder if they'll make you eat that red fruit again. What did it taste like?”  
“You didn't eat yours? It tasted fine. Like a fruit.”  
“Look who's being helpful now.”  
“If you wanted to know, you should have tried it.”  
“Why risk it when I could just ask you?”  
“Remind me again what I'm doing here?”  
“Having dinner with your best friend.”  
“Apparently I have some strange taste in friends,” Sinclair joked with a serious face.  
“Yeah, but on the other hand, you'll eat anything.”  
“I'm not the one who ate someone else's crust,” Sinclair pointed out, slowly getting to his feet.  
“That was yours?” Sinclair grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and nodded. “Eh,” Garibaldi shrugged.  
“Goodnight, Michael.”  
“'Night, Jeff.”

XXX

Sakai's heart sank as the four raider ships were joined by two more, all of which made a bee-line toward the Skydancer. They settled into formation around her ship – one fore and aft, a larger ship above, another below, one on each side. She was completely boxed in and forced to reduce speed.  
“This is the survey ship Skydancer to all ships, please explain yourselves.”  
“This is the Jolly Roger to Skydancer,” laughed a male voice. “Cut speed fifty percent and prepare to be boarded.”  
“This is the Skydancer. Negative. There is nothing of value on board. Not even survey data. You have nothing to gain by boarding. Please allow us to continue to our destination,” she asked firmly, falsely referring to herself in the plural in the hope they'd hesitate to carry out their attack against multiple crewmen, even as the ships surrounding her forced her to slow down again. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as the Skydancer shuddered from the impact of a breaching chamber. “Damn,” she muttered at this turn of events. She looked around the cabin, but there was really nothing she could use to defend herself with. Now she wished she'd listened to Sinclair when he'd once made the preposterous suggestion that she carry a PPG with her. Finally her eyes settled on the large fire extinguisher strapped to the wall beside her. As the ceiling glowed and sparked from the raiders' cutting tools slicing through the hull of the Skydancer, she grabbed the extinguisher and fumbled with it, breaking off the spring in the lever handle. Now, she thought with satisfaction, now she had a weapon.

The raiders finished burning through the Skydancer, pulling the newly detached section into their ship. Strapped firmly into her seat, Sakai turned the base of the canister toward the hole and prepared to take aim. As a man pushed himself into her ship, Sakai pulled the trigger and the explosive force of the compressed gas inside propelled the metal canister forward. It slammed into his head, knocking him unconscious. While he floated around the cabin, Sakai unbuckled her restraints and pushed herself over in his direction, hoping to find a weapon. As she fumbled to remove his PPG from its holster, another man entered the Skydancer, his weapon drawn as he hung onto the lip of the hole in the hull they'd created.  
“Stop or I'll shoot you right there!” he warned her. Sakai looked up in angry frustration.  
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “I have nothing worth stealing.”  
“Oh really? This ship is awfully valuable. We've had our eyes on it for a while now – you keep improving it, upgrading it, making it more and more desirable. But that's enough chit chat – get yourself over here or you're dead. I've killed before and won't hesitate to do it again.” Sakai stared at him, her eyes blazing. She couldn't, however, imagine how she could attack him and take his weapon – the man was massive. No, she'd have to figure out an escape plan in a more favorable environment. Reluctantly, she pushed off the wall and flew through the air to the opening. As soon as she was within reach he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her through the passageway into the other ship.  
“Got her?” asked a third man, who was strapped into a chair at the controls. “Hey – where's Jason?”  
“Looks like she managed to knock him out.” He spun her around so she faced the wall.  
“Cuff her up.” The man pulled her hands together behind her back and linked them together with something she couldn't see. He tugged her towards a handle on the wall and attached her to it with a locking carabiner.  
“She's all yours,” he said, “I'm going to the other ship since Jason's out.” He pushed back off the wall and descended through the hole. The man at the controls released himself and shoved himself over to the breaching pod where he slammed shut a pressure door.  
“Shit!” Sakai thought, struggling futilely to get her hands loose. If she could just get free … it was impossible. She was trapped. The man floated back to his seat at the controls.  
“Ready, Bill?”  
“Yeah, let's detach nice and slow.”  
“You'll never be able to sell this ship – it's too distinctive,” Sakai spat.  
“Shut up or I'll shut you up myself,” he retorted, turning his head to glare at her. Sakai fumed at her own helplessness.  
“People will be looking for me,” she insisted, knowing no one would find her once she departed from her reported flight plan.  
“I said shut the hell up! Prepare to detach,” he directed his accomplice in the Skydancer. “On my mark. Mark!” The ship shuddered briefly as they pulled apart. 

XXX

Early in the morning, but already in full dress, Sinclair prowled the Zocalo to see what his options were with regard to baked goods. There were plenty of shops selling fresh bread and pretzels, but he didn't think a marble rye was going to cut it. Synthetic chocolate chips cookies were right out; too cheap and ordinary. One bakery sold beautifully frosted layer cakes, but they were nearly as much as he earned in a week; far too extravagant to justify, especially since for all he knew, it was a day of fasting. No wonder Sakai complained about how expensive food was aboard the Station when she'd first arrived. Having the mess hall had blinded him to this issue. He hesitated at the cafe they frequented, briefly considering cinnamon rolls, but he didn't know if the Minbari used utensils, without which they'd be too messy. His options were dwindling. He knew Garibaldi was pulling his leg, but just in case he'd researched it and found out that while caffeine was not problematic, many Minbari were allergic to theobromines, which ruled out the chocolate angle. What was left? In desperation he entered one of several donut shops and selected a non-chocolatey assortment of donuts and crullers. Hopefully Delenn hadn't eaten them before and wouldn't associate them with breakfast. He paid for the food and with the box tucked under his arm, headed back toward Green Sector.

Feeling self-conscious, he straightened his jacket and rang the buzzer at Delenn's door. It opened promptly, Lennier standing there to greet him.  
“Commander, welcome,” he said. “We are most pleased you could attend. Come in.”  
“Lennier. Delenn,” Sinclair said, catching sight of her. Like Lennier, she was dressed in the all-white robes she'd worn during the demonstration rebirthing ceremony earlier in the year. She looked particularly beautiful, Sinclair thought despite himself, with the white hood pulled over her bone crest. Beautiful and as always, mysterious.  
“Commander Sinclair. You honor us with your presence.”  
“You've honored me with your invitation,” he exchanged with a bow of his head. He turned back to Lennier. “Here,” he said, handing him the white box of donuts, “I brought dessert. It's a Human custom,” Sinclair explained to the pair's puzzled expressions, “when invited to someone's home for a special occasion, the guest brings something to eat or drink.”  
“Most interesting,” Lennier observed with curiosity.  
“I have heard of this custom,” Delenn offered. “Thank you for sharing it with us.”  
“This … window on the box; does it signify something?” Lennier asked as he studied Sinclair's offering.  
“Not that I know of,” Sinclair smiled. “It's traditional, but I don't think it means anything at all. It just lets you look inside without opening the box.”  
“On Minbar, different boxes mean different things,” Lennier offered.  
“Well, if you want to look at it that way, a box with a window in it means donuts.”  
“Ah,” Lennier said with satisfaction. He looked into the box again. “The holes in the center of these … donuts? What do they symbolize?”  
“Nothing. It's another custom without a meaning.”  
“Most curious,” remarked Delenn, “on Minbar all customs have deep meanings. I was not aware it was possible for a custom to be meaningless.”  
“We have a lot of them, now that I think about it,” Sinclair reflected. “Maybe they meant something once a long time ago, but now we've forgotten exactly what that is.”  
“And these long ones,” Lennier asked.  
“They're called crullers and only come in a couple of flavors.”  
“Are they also without meaning?”  
“Just a different shape for variety.” Lennier said something in Adronato to Delenn. She smiled and Sinclair laughed. “No, they have nothing to do with male virility that I'm aware of,” Sinclair explained, revealing his familiarity with the Religious Caste's language. Lennier looked a little let down.  
“Please, Commander, come sit,” Delenn invited as she took her own place at the low triangular table in the center of the room.  
“I'm here as a friend,” Sinclair said, smiling broadly as he folded his long legs in front of himself and sat down cross-legged, “call me Jeff.”  
“Very well … Jeff,” Delenn answered, saying his name for the first time in all of the years they'd known one another. Lennier set the box down on a side table and then sat down beside them in seiza position. “If you have any questions during the ceremony, feel free to ask about them.”  
“Lennier tells me this day commemorates the arrival of Valen? Who is he, exactly? I've heard the name before but know nothing about him,” he apologized.  
“Valen is our most revered and holy historical figure,” Lennier began enthusiastically. “He came at a time when Minbar had just begun exploring the stars. We encountered a powerful and dark force that was already fighting against many other races, and soon they turned their attention to us. War raged for several years and our forces were scattered and depleted. We were losing the war badly. It is then that Valen appeared, bringing with him an enormous space station for us to operate from, with powerful but unfamiliar fighter ships.”  
“You said 'appeared,'” Sinclair interrupted, “where did he come from?”  
“His origins are lost in the mists of time,” said Delenn. “We know only that he was Minbari but he refused to identify himself with a single caste and we were unable to link him to any known clan. He is a mystery to us,” she explained reverently, “a most powerful mystery.”  
“He is known to us as the Minbari not of Minbari. It is said his arrival was accompanied by angels,” added Lennier.  
“What happened with the war?”  
“Valen led us to victory. But that is not all,” Lennier continued. “He called together The Nine, three from each of our castes – Religious, Warrior and Worker – to govern us. It was under Valen's tutelage that wars between the castes and clans were eliminated and since his day, no Minbari has lifted a hand against another.” Sinclair frowned with disbelief.  
“This is all a legend, I assume?”  
“It is quite true, Comm … Jeff. No Minbari has killed another Minbari since Valen's day.”  
“You'll forgive me, Delenn, but I find that hard to believe.”  
“It is puzzling to me how the Human reaction to so many things is doubt,” Delenn claimed mildly but with a scolding undertone.  
“I'm sorry for being skeptical, but you're talking about a thousand years aren't you?”  
“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” Lennier corrected.  
“But to think there's been no murder on your entire planet for a millennium ...”  
“There has not,” Delenn asserted firmly. “We follow the will of Valen.” She said it with such emphasis that Sinclair almost discounted his disbelief. “On Earth, do your people not devote themselves to someone's sacred words?”  
“Yes, there are many such leaders. Buddha, Christ, Mohammed for example. But very few people are able to follow every command.”  
“How unfortunate.”  
“That it is,” Sinclair agreed. “So what's the name of this holiday?”  
“'Valen klenn'zha;' in your language we would say simply Valen's Day,” Lennier offered. “The meal we will eat is known as glivinn. Do you have sacred meals on your world?”  
“Again, there are a number of them. The Jews have a seder, the Buddhists ganachakra, the Sikhs the gurdwara. In my own religion of Catholicism we have the eucharist, which is more a taste of special food than a meal.”  
“How do you decide on one of these religions?” asked Lennier.  
“Often it's the one your parents observe. But sometimes people read the sacred books of another religion and decide to follow that one. We call that 'converting.'”  
“The Narn also have many holy figures,” Delenn instructed Lennier. She looked again at Sinclair. “To us, however, it seems most confusing.”  
“Sometimes. But we like it that way,” he smiled.  
“Shall we begin?” Delenn asked in a way that was not a question. Lennier rose and retrieved a glass tray holding three individual boxes, all triangular in shape, with one blue, one red, and one yellow. Sinclair was going to ask what they represented beyond being primary colors, but Lennier began a chant. Lennier spoke in some archaic dialect Sinclair was unfamiliar with and couldn't understand. After about ten minutes, Lennier knelt down next to Delenn, who picked up each box separately and set them at the three corners of the table. Then it was her turn to intone some sort of prayer. Sinclair settled in for the long haul.

XXX

From her spot chained to the wall of the ship, Sakai could see out the main window of the raider ship and frustratingly, could see the Skydancer in the middle of the formation, flying without her. There she remained for the next four hours, when the convoy reached the jumpgate. They burst through into normal space where they diverged almost at once from Sakai's planned route. No one, she realized, is going to be able to find me now. I'm going to have to get out of this one by myself.

XXX

At last, Sinclair thought, something is happening. Delenn began to open the boxes, which contained small, irregularly shaped, colored crystals. He wasn't surprised when the chanting began anew, all of it in that unfamiliar dialect, with none of it being translated, at least so far. He figured it must be like a Latin Mass, that had to be recited in one particular, ancient language to have meaning. The difference of course, was that he could follow along in Latin. Every now and then he'd catch a familiar word, but on the whole it was undecipherable. At least Delenn had a pleasant voice.

As she began to pick up some of the blue stones from the first box with a spoon-like device she took from the tray, Lennier finally spoke up with a word of explanation. It was such a sudden shift Sinclair twitched slightly.  
“For the next three hours, Delenn will be recreating certain esoteric patterns with the blessed n'far. The colors represent each of our castes and the design is about the harmony that is created when all work together toward the same common goal. We will meditate upon this theme during this ritual, keeping Valen in our uppermost thoughts.” Sinclair nodded and found his own voice.  
“There's a practice like this on Earth. Tibetan monks create complex patterns with sand. It's called a mandala.” Those took days, he reflected silently. Three hours didn't seem so bad by comparison.  
“How fascinating. Now we must remain silent.” Delenn began arranging the crystals on the table. Three hours of meditation, thought Sinclair as he shifted slightly. One, no problem. Three, that was going to be a challenge. He shrugged inwardly. He liked a challenge.

XXX

Out the main viewscreen, an unknown planet grew larger and larger until lights appeared on the surface. Nestled between two tall mountains was a landing strip, where Sakai could see the Skydancer had already landed.  
“Ship one to base. We're coming in.”  
“Confirmed, ship one.” Minutes later, the raider ship was on the ground and her captor finally released her from the wall, but left her hands bound behind her back.  
“Move it,” he demanded, pushing her toward the air lock. It opened and they stepped out into the thin but breathable air. He marched her to a doorway cut into the mountains and they went inside. There was a fairly elaborate series of chambers carved out of the rock with an oxygen generator to improve the air quality. A group of four other men, along with the man who had flown the Skydancer, were there to greet them.  
“Who's that?”  
“Ship's pilot. Whatdya wanna do with her?”  
“Space her like we did the rest,” he said indifferently.  
“Wait,” another of the men interrupted. “I've seen her around Babylon 5. What's your name?” he demanded of Sakai. She refused to answer. “You're not station personnel are you? But I've seen you there more than once ...” Sakai maintained her silence. “I've seen her with people who do work there.” He studied her again. “That's right – I saw you with the Station Commander and the Security Chief, going into the mess hall. You keep some high-level company for a surveyor. You hooked up with one of them?” Sakai weighed her options – remain anonymous and get spaced, or identify herself and be held for ransom. Both were terrible choices, but one was obviously worse than the other.  
“One's a friend.”  
“Which one?”  
“I'm a friend of Chief Garibaldi.” One of the men whistled.  
“We've got ourself a twofer – the ship and a high level hostage. What's your name?” the second man asked. There was no point in remaining silent any longer.  
“Catherine Sakai.”  
“Think he'd pay to get you back?”  
“Sure he would,” said the first man confidently, “she's a looker. And Chief of the Station – he's gotta be raking in the big bucks.”  
“I'm just a friend. And Earth Force pays shit,” Sakai claimed. “You'll be lucky to get a few thousand credits off of him.”  
“Don't bullshit a bullshitter. Earth Force is picking up the tab to house and feed him – he's gotta have a lot of credits saved up.”  
“He drank it all. I mean, I'm a friend, but he's a serious alcoholic. Lost his last five jobs because of it. Ask around; anyone'll tell you. He's practically broke.”  
“What about the Commander – you know him too?”  
“Just in passing because he's Garibaldi's boss. I'm of no value to him. And really, not much to Garibaldi; we're just friends. It's not like I'm sleeping with him or anything. You want money, I'm the one that's got it. Take me back to the Station and I'll transfer it to you.”  
“Fat chance. You give us the account number and password, we'll get it ourselves.”  
“You're not too smart for a hostage-taker,” Sakai taunted. “It's retinal scan protected. You can't get into the account without me.”  
“What, and have you turn right around and sic your boyfriend after us? You think we're stupid?”  
“He's not my boyfriend. I just want to come out of this alive, that's all. It's worth it to me to pay you.” There were a lot of heads shaking no. “Look, I'll sweeten the deal; you bring me back and I'll sign the papers over for the Skydancer; give it to you free and clear, a telepath witnessed title and everything. It's easily worth a million credits and I own it outright, no bank loans.”  
“What do we need a title for? We've already got it.”  
“No one's going to buy a ship that expensive and that specialized from you without the notarized title. Sure, you could strip it down and sell it for parts, maybe sell the basic ship itself without any of the customizations on the black market, but if you want full dollar, you need that title.” A few of the men exchanged glances.  
“I think we could fake that paperwork easily,” suggested one of them to the others.  
“And run the risk of Psi Corps finding out you faked a teep certification? You ever met a Psi Cop? Trust me, you don't want to get on their bad side. You know what they can do to your head? Ever hear of a mind wipe?” Sakai interjected.  
“I think we've heard more than enough from her – Aubin – lock her up somewhere so we can make some plans here.” 

XXX

Fortunately, Lennier rang a bell periodically, bringing Sinclair back to attention every time he started to drift off. His legs were killing him, but he was afraid to move lest he bump the table and make them have to start over again. Delenn's drawing was truly amazing, covering all but a central circle of the table's surface with interlocking shapes and kabbalistic lines. At last she sat back and lifted the hood off her head and onto her shoulders. Lennier stood up; oh how I envy him, thought Sinclair, and brought Delenn a glass of water. She drank it with her eyes closed and when finished, opened her eyes, stared right at Sinclair and smiled. He smiled back. But now Lennier began another chant as he brought over another box, this one oblong and ivory white. Sinclair couldn't decide what he preferred – the silence or the untranslated prayers. Surreptitiously, he tried to flex the muscles in his numb legs and ankles. If Delenn was uncomfortable too, she gave no sign.

This round of praying was mercifully shorter and at the end Lennier proffered the box to Delenn. From it she drew a heavy, cylindrical candle. She set it at the center of the mandala and lit it with a long match.  
“Is that Valen?” Sinclair guessed in Adronato to pleased smiles.  
“It does indeed represent the light of Valen's wisdom, Commander. Your Adronato is quite good,” he complimented. “We will meditate on the completed ma'fiord for the next hour.” Sinclair broke.  
“Excuse me, but would it be possible for me to stretch my legs before we begin?” he practically begged.  
“Of course, Jeff, you may do so at any time,” Delenn informed him. Now they tell me, he bemoaned silently. At first he couldn't even get his legs to respond and then, once on his feet, they burned with electricity. He walked around a short distance and stopped in front of the large crystalline structure he had seen Delenn work on when in her quarters before.  
“Is this related?” he asked. Delenn's face turned stony.  
“It is not,” she replied briefly, and it was clear he'd get no further explanation. He looked over at Lennier who bowed his head. There was something more going on with this, he decided as he looked at the abstract sculpture again, but it was clear he wasn't going to get an answer now. He sat back down and they began their silent observations.

XXX

Sakai sat on the floor next to the door of the dormitory the raiders had locked her in, trying to overhear their conversation.  
“She's a fast talker, that's for sure; she's got you guys debating her ideas. But let's get real here – a teep would know immediately what's going on. We'll never get that title. About the bank account though … Bill, is our guy in security still on the job?”  
“Benson got whacked, but yeah, we've got a new guy.”  
“Think he can get us through customs with a weapon?”  
“I think so. We'd have to coordinate with him on the timing. Her friend Garibaldi shows up a lot, unexpectedly.”  
“I'm not buying that they're just friends.”  
“She does seem pretty eager to get back to Babylon 5.”  
“Which makes me think there's something more going on there than she's letting on.”  
“Aubin, why don't you head out there with the shuttle, find out who she really is, see if we can actually get her to the bank machine under our control.”  
“Then what?”  
“Then we clean out her account, take her Down Below and ransom her off too.”  
“How much you think we can get for her – is it worth the trouble?”  
“When aren't credits worth the trouble?” the speaker laughed. “But let's poke around into that too – find out if she's really doing him, if he really drank away his salary or what. How big a loan can they take out anyway?”  
“Depends on rank. For a Chief, probably about a quarter of his annual salary? We need to research that too.”  
“With a nine, ten day trip there and back, we'd better get on it right away. Meanwhile, let's start stripping the ship.” 

XXX

Sinclair was completely zoned out when Delenn spoke next, reawakening him.  
“We will now begin the glivenn, or festive meal,” she announced. It was only then that it dawned on Sinclair how hungry he was. Lennier began bringing over a small series of bowls and dishes, setting them right atop the crystal pattern. One of them contained three donuts, which looked preposterously out of place. He should have sprung for the cake.  
“This is glomo fruit,” Lennier explained, pointing to a bowl of familiar looking red fruits. “These are qual'fha leaf cakes and this is yla leaves. This is jenn bulbs in owalla paste, freshly chopped pisha and your own offering of … I have forgotten the name.”  
“Donuts,” Sinclair provided.  
“Donuts,” Lennier repeated. “Finally this is tim'fa juice, said to be Valen's favorite.”  
“Lennier has been preparing these traditional dishes for the last three days,” Delenn remarked with a smile at her aide.  
“Most impressive,” said Sinclair. “Thank you,” he said, again showing off his Adronato, with a bow of his head to Lennier. The younger man smiled. Sinclair was ready to dig in. Lennier set a plate and spork-like utensil in front of him, Delenn, and at his own seat, then laid a final plate between Sinclair and Delenn. At Sinclair's questioning look, Delenn explained.  
“This table setting is for Valen, upon his prophesied return.”  
“Ah.”  
“We begin with the qual'fha,” said Lennier, picking up one cake with his fingers. Delenn and Sinclair followed suit, but Delenn broke off a piece of her cake and put it on Valen's plate. When Lennier did so as well, Sinclair followed with an offering from his own plate. “Before we eat, a prayer.” Sinclair had wondered how such a simple meal was going to fill the remaining four hours. He wondered no longer. 

And on it went, a prayer, a bite, more meditation. The meager bites of food followed by prolonged silences brought out incredible impatience in Sinclair, but he struggled to keep it private. The Minbari seemed to be an extraordinarily patient people. Maddeningly so. By the time they came to the donuts, Sinclair was exhausted and looking forward to the sugar rush.  
“Is there a prayer for the donuts?” Lennier asked.  
“Normally, no, you just eat them.” His hosts looked disappointed. “We usually recite a prayer at the start of a meal for all the food and then eat without meditating,” he offered.  
“Would you share this prayer with us?” Delenn requested. She looked at him expectantly.  
“Alright.” He bowed his head. “Our Dear Heavenly Father, we thank thee for this food. Feed our souls on the bread of life and help us to do our part in kind words and loving deeds. We ask in Jesus' name, Amen.” Delenn and Lennier looked at each other in astonishment. Sinclair glanced from one to the other, wondering what was going on.  
“You did not mention you have studied the words of Valen,” Delenn said with pleasure.  
“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Delenn, but I haven't.”  
“But in the middle of your prayer, you recited Valen's words,” Lennier exclaimed. He spoke a passage in ancient Adronto and then translated. “And Valen said to the Nine, 'may our souls partake of life's bread and may we conduct ourselves with tender words and benevolent action.' We began this meal with those words. You have remembered them.”  
“No,” Sinclair frowned, “that's one of a number of Catholic prayers. The priests used to lead us in it in the dining hall before meals.”  
“How is this possible?” Lennier asked.  
“I don't know ...” Sinclair responded, furrowing his brow.  
“It must be that Valen has indeed tapped into the universal Truth,” Lennier decided, his expression one of delight. “That or he visited your world. It is said that late in life Valen left Minbar and travelled among the stars before eventually returning home. Do your people speak of him?”  
“No, I'd never heard of him before I started reading about your people. And if someone Minbari had shown up on Earth, there would certainly be stories about it, records maybe, even from so long ago.”  
“How astonishing,” mused Lennier. Sinclair looked at Delenn for her explanation, but while she smiled mysteriously, she said nothing. The donuts seemed more anticlimactic than ever.

XXX

Having thanked his hosts for the experience, Sinclair headed for the mess hall for a more substantial meal.  
“Hey, look who's all dressed up with no place to go,” Garibaldi greeted him as he carried his tray into the seating area. He detoured over to where his friend was sitting. “How'd it go?”  
“It was interesting,” Sinclair began, “but I'm exhausted. You have no idea, Michael, how wearing it can be sitting stock-still in silence for most of the day.”  
“You got me there – never tried it. So was it awkward silence or what?”  
“They meditate before and after they do anything. Worse, they do it between bites of food. But the strangest thing happened at the end of the meal,” Garibaldi looked at him with curiosity. “They asked me to provide a prayer, which I did, and then told me they had the same prayer themselves. And sure enough – no reference to God, more complex wording, but it was essentially the same thing. Sent a shiver down my spine.”  
“That's really bizarre. Did they get it from us?”  
“Supposedly it dates back a thousand years ago to Valen. Everything they do does. There's been some language shift of course, but their customs are said to be the same ones they practiced in Valen's day.”  
“How'd they take the news that he was Catholic?” joked Garibaldi.  
“They seemed to take it stride; they think we got it from them.”  
“No way. Your religion goes back further than theirs.”  
“And it's not as if there's a legend about some bone-headed guy appearing in the early middle ages. It's just the craziest coincidence I've ever encountered.”  
“Man, you just inhaled that burger.”  
“I was starving. We had one small meal stretched out over four hours. The donuts were the only thing we ate normally.”  
“Donuts? You brought them donuts?”  
“If I'd realized how elaborate the ceremony would be I would have bought a cake. But it was a fortune and I didn't know if this was a fasting holiday or not.”  
“What'd they think of them?”  
“Lennier wanted to know what the symbolism of the hole was,” Sinclair chuckled, “I don't even know why they're there, do you?” Garibaldi shook his head. “I'll let you guess what Lennier thought the crullers were about. They've got a reason behind everything they do. That Valen must have been a hell of a deep thinker. Anyway, I think they liked them, but they may have just been being polite.”  
“I dunno, Jeff, seems like a weird thing to bring. You should've gone with ...”  
“Cannoli, I know. Couldn't find any. Well, I'm done here. Catherine should be back already so I'm gonna take off.”  
“Alright,” Garibaldi said turning his attention to his own plate of food. “Catch you later.” Sinclair walked off. “Donuts? Seriously?” 

XXX

Pulling off his jacket before he even got to the door, Sinclair walked into a dark room. He frowned; it was far too early for Sakai to be asleep. He turned on the lights and checked the bedroom anyway. She wasn't there.  
“Sinclair to C and C.”  
“Ivanova here, Commander.”  
“Did the Skydancer come back yet?”  
“Not while I've been on duty. Let me check the logs. No, Commander, she hasn't arrived. Is there a problem?”  
“She was due back earlier today,” Sinclair observed, puzzled but not too concerned. “She must have found something really interesting out there. Thanks, Lt. Commander.”  
“Shall I call you when she arrives, Commander?”  
“No, that's alright.”  
“Out of curiosity, sir, how was the honey cake received?”  
“I went with donuts.” There was a prolonged silence.  
“Interesting choice, Commander. Very interesting.” Sinclair sighed, knowing he hadn't heard the last of it.  
“Sinclair out.” He undid the top of his shirt, rolled up his sleeves and sat down at his desk to catch up on the events of the last day.

At eighteen hundred hours he checked back with C and C before it closed up for the night, but the Skydancer still hadn't returned. He assumed she'd show up any minute; finished up on the paperwork and then headed for the shower before turning in early.

XXX

“Hold the Line, no one gets through! No, Mitchell, stay in formation! It might be a … oh my God, it's a trap, Mitchell!” Sinclair bolted upright in bed and shook his head, breathing hard. He reached over next to him for Sakai, then frowned at the emptiness beside him. “Lights.” It was three in the morning. No one had been in C and C for hours and the docking bay was closed. Now he was a little bit worried. “Computer, have there been any messages for me in the last eight hours?”  
“Negative.” He got out of bed and went over to the viewscreen in the living room. “Show me all views from external maintenance bots.” Maybe she was in orbit waiting for the bays to open in the morning, he thought, but the cameras showed nothing. Sinclair returned to his bedroom and put on some clothes. Then he headed through the dimmed corridors to Command and Control.

At his station, he pulled up Sakai's flight plan, then began checking the jumpgate records. She hadn't passed through any of them. He sat down, his heart pounding. She was fifteen hours overdue. He double-checked for any tachyon message deliveries but there were none. Sakai could be irresponsible, but she knew he was worried about this particular trip. Surely she would have sent a message if she knew she'd be so late in returning. Frustrated and puzzled, he returned to his quarters and tried fitfully to get some more sleep. It eluded him.

Three hours later he got out of bed and dressed for the day, checking again for a message before going to the mess hall for breakfast.  
“Commander?” Ivanova said, bringing her tray over to his table. “I assume since you're alone that Ms. Sakai has yet to return?”  
“No. She should have been back eighteen hours ago,” he responded, running a hand through his hair. “I'd be lying if I didn't say I was worried.”  
“Well C and C will be up and running soon. I'm sure she'll check in.”  
“I'm not,” he admitted, setting down his fork, his appetite gone.  
“What are you going to do?”  
“I don't know yet.”

XXX

“But I have to do something,” Sinclair said to Garibaldi as they stood in the latter's office. “A Starfury can hold five days worth of breathable air. That should get me to her destination long enough to look around and make it back.”  
“That's cutting it awfully close, Jeff. A shuttle will get you further.” Sinclair nodded.  
“But if she's gotten into some kind of trouble … I'll want my guns there,” he said grimly.  
“She'll be furious if she's just been hanging around out there collecting more data and you show up.”  
“Right now I'd welcome having that argument.”  
“She won't be as mad if it's me. And five days is a lot of time for you to be off Station. Why don't you let me take Alpha Wing to check it out?”  
“This isn't a Station problem, it's my problem.”  
“Sure it is. If ships in adjoining sectors are running into some kind of trouble out there, we need to know about it. Look, Jeff, I know you want to go, but it makes a lot more sense for you to let me take care of it.” Sinclair stared at him a while before reluctantly nodding.  
“You'll keep me posted?”  
“Absolutely.”  
“Mike … do you think it could be the raiders?” Garibaldi made a face.  
“It could be. Or maybe she's got a mechanical.”  
“She just had the Skydancer overhauled.”  
“Whatever it is, I'll find out. You can count on it.”  
“Thanks.”

XXX

Sakai was finally able to convince the raiders to uncuff her during the day – they simply locked her in the dormitory. But at night they chained her to a bed, where she found herself now. They knew, as she did, that if she could just get to their computer she could send out a distress call. Meanwhile she knew that day by day they were taking apart the Skydancer; all the effort and money she'd put into it lost, piece by piece. But when it came right down to it, the hell with the ship. As much as she loved it, the Skydancer was insured; she could build it again if only she could get herself free. And the key to escape was to get them to take her to Babylon 5; all she'd have to do was catch the right person's eye there. 

She didn't however, want them to learn about her connection to Jeff. Who knew what kind of crazy demands they'd make if they realized she was involved with the Station's Commander? And how likely would they be to actually release her for ransom when she knew so much and had his reach and authority on her side? No, if they realized how high level a prisoner she was they'd likely never let her go alive. It was unfortunate that one of them had seen her with Garibaldi, but there was nothing she could do about that. The best thing she could do was to start playing up how rich she was; make her bank account irresistible. Only she needed to know she'd sunk most of her recent windfall into the Skydancer.

She thought about Jeff. In his own quiet and private way he must be worried about her disappearance by now. He'd probably be looking for her, but of course he wouldn't find her – even she had no idea where she was other than that it wasn't Vedit ten. Damn, if she could just get free from the handcuffs. She tried folding her hand in on itself, worked at narrowing it to match the size of her wrists, but it wasn't possible. Not without breaking it completely and she wasn't quite that desperate yet. Would Jeff be above an “I told you so” when she finally got back, she wondered, putting aside the possibility that she wouldn't. He probably won't say it, but he'll be thinking it and it'll be in his eyes, she thought. And maybe next time she'd take his warnings more seriously. Maybe buy that gun. It sure would have come in handy this time.

How long had the raiders been watching her comings and goings? Not well enough to know about Jeff, but enough to have made deliberate plans to ambush her. They must have at least two moles on the inside – the one in Security they'd mentioned, and someone in Ops who could have leaked her flight plan. Ironic that her effort to take a security precaution was what had given her course away.

She tried to roll onto her side but was thwarted by the way they'd secured her to the bed frame. Her helplessness infuriated her. She tried to figure out what she could have done to avoid capture but came up empty. She'd given it her best shot with the fire extinguisher. Once she'd left the Station, she'd been doomed. She gritted her teeth and fought against the frustrated tears that were welling up in her eyes. She was tough, she was determined, and she'd be damned at giving them the satisfaction of making her cry, even if they were too soundly asleep to know it.

XXX

“Once again, my dear Delenn, it has been a pleasure doing business with you,” Londo Mollari said, standing up from the table in the conference room. “Good day. Commander.”  
“Ambassador,” Sinclair said with a nod as Londo jauntily left the room.  
“Thank you, Commander, for helping us come to an agreement on this matter.” She gathered up her paperwork and looked at Sinclair thoughtfully. “Is something wrong, Commander? You seemed a bit … preoccupied.”  
“What? No, it's nothing, Ambassador.” Delenn frowned at him. “It's personal,” Sinclair explained.  
“If there's anything I can do ...”  
“No, but thank you.”  
“Well, if I might enquire on a personal matter of my own, we just finished the last of the donuts you brought, and I must confess I quite enjoyed the ones you called 'cinnamon.' If it is not too much trouble, may I ask where you purchased this food?” Sinclair smiled despite himself.  
“Level two of the Zocalo, half way down, at the 'Hot and Fresh' store.” Delenn smiled.  
“Thank you, Commander, I shall have to visit 'Hot and Fresh.”  
“If you buy twelve at one time they give you another one free. It's called a baker's dozen.”  
“A baker's dozen? Are Human bakers known to be particularly bad at mathematics?” Sinclair chuckled.  
“I believe it's another one of our meaningless customs. It's simply a tradition.”  
“I fear I will never fully understand Humans,” Delenn complained lightly. She again looked at him searchingly. “Are you certain I cannot help you? Valen advised that one who does not turn to his friends in times of trouble lacks compassion for himself.” Sinclair sighed and reconsidered. Valen's words seemed to have merit.  
“I don't know where Catherine is,” he admitted. “She's nearly five days overdue and there's been no word. Garibaldi should be just about at her intended destination; I'm waiting to hear from either of them.”  
“I am sorry to hear this. Where was she headed?”  
“The Damocles Sector.”  
“I will alert any of our ships in that area to contact me if they see her ship, and to render assistance if necessary. What is the name of it?”  
“The Skydancer. It's a surveyor's vessel. Thank you, Delenn,” Sinclair said sincerely. “But I'm sure she'll show up soon,” he lied to the both of them. The only thing Sinclair was sure of as he left the conference room was that if things were okay Sakai would have contacted him days ago. He refused to allow himself to think the worst, but with every hour that passed, his resolve weakened. Her whereabouts and condition were nagging thoughts behind everything he did during the day, and at night he found himself staring at the ceiling unable to sleep through the noise of his fears. He was in the lift when Ivanova called him.  
“Commander, I'm patching you through to Garibaldi now.”  
“Mike?” he asked eagerly.  
“It's not looking so good, Jeff,” Garibaldi said, with none of his usual bluster. “We've looked all through this solar system and there's no trace of her that we could find. Of course it's possible she's landed on one of the planets, but there are a dozen of them and without a signal ...” Sinclair felt the adrenaline rush from his head to the pit of his stomach. “Now, maybe we just missed each other in hyperspace; she could be heading back your way even as we speak, but ...”  
“Understood,” Sinclair choked. “Wrap it up and bring Alpha Squad on home.”  
“I'm sorry, Jeff; I was hoping to have better news.”  
“It is what it is. Sinclair out.” He stopped the lift between floors and leaned back against the wall composing himself. Yes he'd warned her to be careful, to even consider putting off the trip, but he'd never really entertained the truth he was facing now; that Sakai was missing and he had no idea where she was or what had happened. It was a frightening thought. He restarted the lift and headed up to C and C.

Ivanova moved toward him immediately, and all heads turned to see him. They'd heard Garibaldi tell Ivanova his news.  
“Commander ...” she began, but he shot her down with a look.  
“How many ships are still due in, Lt. Commander?”  
“Fourteen including G'Kar's – he's returning from Narn today.”  
“Make certain he's greeted with an appropriate security detail.”  
“Yes sir. Commander ...” she began again.  
“Yes?” he said flatly.  
“After our shifts are over, could I interest you in a drink?” Sinclair shook his head.  
“Unnecessary, Lt. Commander. Thank you.” His staff took a second glance at him standing there seemingly unperturbed and then turned back to their consoles, reassured everything was status quo.

XXX

Sinclair wasn't as calm as he appeared. He sat in his darkened quarters staring unseeing at the Interstellar News Network on his viewer and jiggling the ice around his empty rocks glass. She had to be okay, he kept telling himself. Something had made her change her plans, but she was fine. She had to be. His place was full of reminders of her – the empty wine glass on the coffee table, a small pile of her jewelry by the bed, her clothes in the closet and her toothbrush on the bathroom sink. She'd be coming back to it all, but when? How long was too long? She could be secretive about her plans, but had never filed a false itinerary. There was just something wrong with the whole situation. His door chimed and he sat up straight in his seat on the couch and turned off the news.  
“Come.” Ivanova stepped into his living room with a bottle and a familiar looking white box.  
“I decided not to take no for an answer,” she asserted. “You looked like you needed someone to talk to and with Garibaldi off station, that is me.”  
“I'm fine,” he tried to assure her.  
“With all due respect, Jeff, you are sitting here in the dark, drinking by yourself. This is not to me the picture of someone who is fine. Do you have another glass around here?” Sinclair indicated the kitchenette with his head and Ivanova rummaged through the cabinets, finally coming over to join him with her offering of whiskey and donuts. “Okay, so talk,” she ordered, pouring herself a drink.  
“There's nothing to say. She's missing but she'll turn up soon.”  
“You don't look sure about that.” Sinclair poured himself another drink and shaking his head took a donut covered in powdered sugar out of the box.  
“I knew I hadn't heard the last about the donuts,” he said, trying to redirect the conversation. “But I'll have you know the Ambassador really enjoyed them.”  
“It's still a weird choice,” she said, starting in on one herself. “What are you going to bring to their next event – milk and cookies?”  
“Maybe,” he smiled.  
“So where do you think Catherine is?” Ivanova said, returning to the more serious topic.  
“I don't know. Once Garibaldi gets back I'll have him poke around and see if he can find out what her real destination was.”  
“You think she lied about where she was going? Why would she do that?”  
“Sometimes she gets contracts that are top secret. Maybe this was one of them.”  
“But why would she mislead you about how long she'd be gone? Has she ever done that before?”  
“No,” he admitted reluctantly.  
“So you are worried.” He looked off into the distance for a long time.  
“Yeah. But it's too soon to panic.”  
“You do not do panic. I admire that greatly.”  
“Thanks.” He sighed. “Look, some of her business trips take her away for weeks at a time. I'd like to think she would have told me if this was one of those times, but then she does keep her own secrets.”  
“Sounds like you have a complicated relationship,” Ivanova dared. Sinclair smiled wryly.  
“What relationship isn't?” His voice dropped intimately. “You seeing anyone, Susan?”  
“Good God, no.” She took a generous drink from her glass. “Relationships, I think, are like unsweetened chocolate. It looks delicious, but once you take a bite you're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. No, love is not for me,” she said scornfully.  
“You're too much the pessimist,” Sinclair admonished. “If you give it enough time, sooner or later it's bound to work out.”  
“Perhaps for you. But for me? No, I do not think so.”  
“I think you've read too much Russian literature.”  
“There is no such thing as too much Russian literature,” she asserted. Sinclair laughed.  
“Thanks for coming by, Susan,” he said.  
“You're welcome,” Ivanova assured him as she stood up and grabbed hold of the whiskey bottle she'd brought. “Enjoy your donuts and I will see you in C and C tomorrow.”

XXX

Sakai paced the dormitory until she was sure she was wearing a path into the stone floor. She'd lost track of how many days had gone by with her locked in the room while the raiders disassembled her ship outside. They'd kept her fed and watered as if she were some kind of house pet, but no longer discussed their plans in front of her. She had no idea if a trip to Babylon 5 was still in the works and if they were still planning to ransom her off to Garibaldi. Whatever it was she needed a plan of her own – for escape. The fire extinguisher hadn't worked because she didn't expect to be boarded by more than one person. Now that she knew there were six of them – seven minus the man who'd taken their shuttle back to B5, she had to figure out something that would put them all out of commission at once. She kept reviewing the Skydancer in her mind, trying to think what else might be at her disposal if they took her on a flight using it. It was hard to know what would be left of her ship once they were done with it, but she imagined that they'd strip it down to its original stock condition. Suddenly she heard footsteps and hurried over to the door to listen.  
“Aubin, that you?” someone asked. “What'dya find out?” Another voice answered, slightly muffled through the com system.  
“Plenty. She was telling the truth about being friends with the Security Chief, but damn did she leave something out! She's the Station Commander's lover!” Sakai's heart sunk.  
“Say what?”  
“Word is they've been together nearly all year.”  
“Well damn, that changes everything. You find out anything about her bank account?”  
“Nothing specific, but she seems to spend credits pretty freely, buys a lot of luxury items – food, liquor, jewelry. But whatever is in her account's gotta pale by comparison with the budget he has at his disposal. Earth's made millions available for Station upkeep just this year.”  
“You think he can draw on that without Earth Gov approval?”  
“That's gonna be his problem, not ours. Anyway, everything's in place here – I've got a guy in security who's keeping plenty of secrets he'd like to keep hidden, so he'll do as he's told. You figure out the plan with the other guys and I'll get it done on this end.”  
“Alright. We'll be in touch. Bill out.” Sakai scrambled away from the door to the other side of the room at the sound of approaching footsteps. The door swung open and Bill and another raider crossed the room to her angrily. “You lied to us, you bitch!” the second man exclaimed, backhanding her across the face. Sakai winced and then glared back at him. “You said you didn't know the Commander but you're screwing him.”  
“Well who really knows anyone but themselves?” she mocked philosophically, refusing to back down.  
“Wiseass. I'll see you dead before all this is done.” The way he leered at her made Sakai nervous, but she showed no sign of it.  
“Nah,” Bill said, “I think she's gonna keep supplying us for a long, long time if she doesn't want to see something unfortunate happen to her boyfriend.” He turned from his partner to Sakai. “Isn't that right? We know where he is and what he's up to every minute of the day; we wanna take him out, he's gone.” Sakai laughed at him.  
“You don't have a clue who you're talking about. The last time somebody got him really, really mad, it was the Minbari. And they surrendered.” Bill laughed back.  
“That's good, that's really good. But heroes of The Line gotta go out in public same as everyone else. We've got associates all over the Station. You're gonna cooperate with us or he's going down – with you right afterwards.”  
“Like I said, you don't know anything if you think you can pull that off. But I already told you if you take me back to B5 I'll transfer my savings over to you and believe me, I've saved up plenty. It'll be more than worth your while and there'll be no reason to try to go up against Jeff, though I'd love to see you try.”  
“You seem to think you're the one running this operation, but you're not. You'll do what we tell you if you want you and Sinclair to keep breathing. Come on, Jason, let's go.” They strode out the door and locked her back in. Sakai went back to plotting.

XXX

Inspiration struck Sinclair the next morning as he was drinking his cup of coffee substitute. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it before, but there was one sure-fire way to ascertain where Sakai had been going. He finished dressing and called Talia Winters, arranging to meet her in the business district in a half hour.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Ms. Winters.”  
“But of course. What can I do for you, Commander?”  
“A personal favor. Did you sit in on Catherine's last contract negotiation?”  
“A few weeks ago, why?”  
“She's missing. She should have been back over a week and a half ago, but she never returned. I won't ask you to reveal any confidential information, but I need a yes or no confirmation about what I already know. Did she really intend to go to the Damocles Sector to a planet named Vedit ten?” Talia thought for a moment about the ethical implications of answering his question. She could sense his genuine concern.  
“You really have no idea where she is?” Sinclair nodded. “I'm very sorry to hear that Commander. That's what the contract was about.”  
“No side trips or anything?”  
“No. I'm afraid not. Nothing else was discussed and I didn't sense any evasion on her part.”  
“Thank you for your help,” he said sincerely, even as he started to feel sick inside. “I owe you one.” Something was very, very wrong. Wrong enough that for the first time he considered the possibility that Catherine was dead. If her ship had been destroyed, there would have been some wreckage for Garibaldi to find, but there were other possibilities. If she'd entered one of the planets' atmospheres at the wrong trajectory she could have been burned up without a trace. If she had somehow missed a beacon and been pulled off course, she could be permanently lost in hyperspace. If the raiders or some other malign force found her they could have taken her and her ship someplace else entirely. If she'd been forced to land, as Garibaldi suggested, and her com system was damaged, there'd be no way to ever contact, find and rescue her. Those four possibilities were the only ones he could come up with, and only one of them allowed for the chance of her still returning alive.

My God, thought Sinclair for the first time, could she really be gone forever? Why hadn't she listened to Garibaldi and backed out of the job or at least postponed it until things in Sector 56 were secure? Why hadn't he leaned on her harder to change her mind? He sighed a single bitter laugh. There was nothing he could have done. She went her own way, as she always did, free and independent, the way that made him love her. And he too took plenty of foolish chances with his life on a regular basis. He couldn't condemn her for hers. But he was no longer certain he'd ever see her again. It didn't seem real. All he could do was do what he usually did; bury his emotions and distract himself with work. This time, though, it was going to be harder to do that than ever before. 

XXX

“I thought I'd find you here,” Garibaldi said as he came upon Sinclair sitting on the stone bench in the zen garden. Sinclair looked up at him with an expression Garibaldi had never seen on his friend's face before. It looked like despair.  
“Michael.” Garibaldi sat down next to him.  
“Look, give me some time to poke around here, Jeff. I'll find out where she really went ...” Sinclair stared ahead at the rocks and sand.  
“I spoke to Talia Winters this morning. She was going to Vedit ten. No place else.”  
“Maybe she changed her mind … it's not like we found any wreckage …” Sinclair glanced at him, that same expression on his face.  
“That makes it even harder. I may never know what happened to her. Ever.”  
“I'm sorry, Jeff.”  
“Don't be; you did your best. She just wasn't there for you to find.” Sinclair sighed heavily. “I had hope until this morning, Mike. But when Talia told me Catherine's contract and intent was just what she had told us … hope seems foolish now, like a palliative story about a kid's dead dog being off on a farm somewhere.” Garibaldi shivered at Sinclair's words.  
“Jeff … I've never heard you talk like this before.”  
“I've never felt like this before.” He paused. “Except on The Line; when I realized we were doomed.”  
“Yeah, but we made it out after all, Jeff ...”  
“That was a miracle. How many miracles can one person expect to experience in their life?”  
“Jeff, this isn't like you. She'll show up eventually.” Sinclair sighed again, frustration building in him to the boiling point.  
“And you base this assurance on what?” he snapped. “Not on the facts at hand, that's for sure.” Garibaldi rarely saw Sinclair so openly angry. He didn't know what more to say and was afraid that if he reached out to put a reassuring hand on Sinclair's shoulder, he'd get his arm ripped off.  
“Have you been drinking?” Garibaldi asked sharply. Sinclair gave him the side eye.  
“No, I'm stone cold sober.” He stood up abruptly. “Damn it, Michael, I'm telling you I've never felt so helpless before. She could maybe be out there someplace, but I can't do anything to help her. Even on The Line there was something I could do, a last act of defiance. But now, dead or alive, I can't reach her, can't even figure out what went wrong. I'm helpless. I'm damned helpless.”  
“It's only been a week …”  
“Eleven days. Without a word. The Minbari have been keeping an eye out for her too but Delenn says they haven't seen a trace of her. G'Kar just came back from Narn, I even asked him; he'd pulled her out of the fire once before. I hoped ...” He shook his head. “It's a vast universe out there; the odds of anyone running into her are astronomical,” he laughed bitterly at the pun.  
“Jeff, let's take this someplace else,” he said, eyeing a young couple entering the garden. “You don't want anyone else to see you like this.” Sinclair glared darkly at him, then relented.  
“Let's go to the gym. I feel like pounding the hell out of something.”

XXX

Damn, she was bored, Sakai thought, then reflected on the absurdity of that feeling. Here she was in a life or death situation, but she was bored. She'd been locked in the room for days with only that one encounter for stimulation. She'd tried to keep busy mentally reciting fragments of poems and song lyrics, solving mathematical problems in her head, practicing the one Minbari language she knew, conjugating verbs and reviewing vocabulary, and again and again returned to the question of escape. She wasn't sure the raiders had no way of harming Jeff; if they confronted him directly they were dead men, but if they tried something simple and surreptitious like poisoning his food, they might have a chance. Her own fate was even less certain; she'd really pissed them off between the fire extinguisher and the evasiveness of her answers. She got the feeling they'd love to both get their hands on her money and kill her off. Think, Sakai, think, she kept telling herself, looking for a solution. If they took her on the Skydancer they'd probably strap her into her bed with her hands tied behind her back, so she wouldn't be able to escape. It would be her, immobilized, and a pilot. All she could do would be to talk. Think, think. And then it dawned on her.

XXX

“You beat the crap out of that bag” Garibaldi asked as he sat with Sinclair in the latter's quarters while Sinclair iced his right hand. “Feel any better?”  
“No.”  
“Are you gonna be alright tonight?”  
“No.” Garibaldi put his feet up on the coffee table.  
“Well, then you're stuck with me for the duration. Mmm, donuts. You're really into them, huh? Do you mind?” Sinclair closed his eyes and shook his head and Garibaldi went straight for the chocolate glazed one. “Listen, Jeff, if you hear me on nothing else today, listen to me now. However this turns out, you and Catherine, you really had something. Maybe she's gone, maybe she's not, but either way I'm envious of you. You've got a great post and you had a solid relationship with a woman who loved you back. Most people never pull that off. Me and Ivanova? It's not in the cards for us. Franklin? He flies from one woman to the next like a bee to flowers. The ambassadors? They've got nothing. Talia, well, okay, she had Ironheart. You two are the lucky ones. 'Cause even if it's over, you had it and no one can take that away from you.” Sinclair looked at Garibaldi, sadness dimming his amber eyes.  
“Thanks, Mike.”  
“It's true, you know.”  
“Yeah. But right now it just hurts like hell. Hoping now feels worse than accepting defeat.”  
“So you are still hoping?”  
“I'm always hoping. It feels really stupid now, though.”  
“Have you prayed on it?” Sinclair frowned.  
“Why are you of all people, asking me that?”  
“'Cause you believe in it. Whether I do or not is irrelevant. And it can't hurt. Damn, I wish I'd found her for you. Talia is sure she saw nothing?”  
“No. Lost, kidnapped, or dead. Those are the three choices. Dead seems more realistic every hour that goes by.” Garibaldi had no reply to that. They sat in silence for a while.  
“Have any raider attacks been reported while I was gone?”  
“No.”  
“That's odd. They were pulling off at least one or two hijackings a week. They must be up to something else. Maybe they got her.”  
“Be straight with me, Michael; do they ever kidnap anyone or do they just go for cargo?”  
“Honestly, it's mostly hit and run. Kill the crew and any passengers, take the stuff. But once in a while, you hear about a hostage taking. Usually someone high profile. Catherine's your girlfriend and you're what I'd call high profile.”  
“Wouldn't there have been some kind of ransom demand?”  
“You got me there. I'd think so, yeah.” Sinclair closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. “Look, we've never been able to find the base they're operating out of. Maybe it's real far away,” Garibaldi said as he started in on a second donut.  
“Then why do they keep showing up around here?”  
“You want money, you rob a bank. You want ships, you go near Babylon 5.”  
“Things are pretty bad when your last, best hope is that someone's been kidnapped.” Sinclair observed morosely.  
“You wanna split this joint and get some dinner, take your mind off this for a while?”  
“I'm not hungry.”  
“You gotta eat something.”  
“Who are you, my mother? Fine,” Sinclair answered, taking a donut from the dwindling supply in the box. “You satisfied?”  
“Not really. You got some coffee substitute around here?” Sinclair rolled his eyes at Garibaldi's attempt at humor.  
“In the kitchen. Help yourself.”  
“Woah. You've got a bag of the real stuff here.”  
“It's Catherine's.”  
“Think she'd mind?”  
“Yes. If she's coming back.”  
“Well then I'm not touching it.”  
“How long would you give it, Mike, if it were you?”  
“Three weeks maybe. But then you're usually more optimistic than me.”  
“Usually.” Another prolonged silence settled over the two of them. Garibaldi came over with a hot drink for Sinclair, but he turned it down. “Last thing I want to do is be up all night,” he said.  
“You know you will anyway.”  
“Yeah. Probably. I don't sleep well on the couch.”  
“Why are you sleeping on … oh. Never mind. You wanna play cards? Watch a vid? You ever seen Centauri porno? It's pretty bizarre, they've got six ...”  
“No. Definitely no.”  
“You're making it real hard to cheer you up.”  
“I don't want to be cheered up. I want to come to terms with reality.”  
“You have. You've accepted that there's nothing you can do, but you're holding out hope.”  
“It feels like I'm lying to myself.”  
“I've never seen you admit defeat before. Don't disappoint me now. Once in a while the dog actually does go to a farm. Not often, but it can happen. Man, this is ass-backwards; me giving the advice to you.”  
“You were due,” Sinclair said with the faintest of smiles. “Thanks.”

XXX

Another week passed as the raiders finished taking apart the Skydancer. Sakai had installed nearly a half million credits worth of equipment on the ship over the years. As the time went by, she became more and more impatient to get out of her prison, especially since she now had a plan. Back on Babylon 5, Sinclair became increasingly reclusive, while much to his dismay, he became besieged by visitors who thought he should have company. Both Ivanova and Garibaldi kept showing up at odd hours with more donuts and even Franklin came by. Once, to escape them all, he went to Mass, which he hadn't done since coming aboard the Station. It didn't help. On the way back he ran into Londo, who wanted to take him for a drink and a lap dance at the Dark Star, and it was a challenge getting out of that offer without sorely disappointing the well-meaning if perverse Ambassador. He rearranged his schedule as much as he could so that he'd be off duty when Ivanova and Garibaldi were on, but after a while that became too much effort. He really didn't want to do anything but sit in the dark and brood. He was finally doing just that when his door chimed again.

“Lights low. Come,” he said, defeated. This time it was Delenn with a white box. He still had petrified donuts on the table from Ivanova's latest visit. He started to get up.  
“Please, do not get up on my account,” said Delenn kindly. “I just came from 'Hot and Fresh' and was hoping to find someone to share these with. Lennier complains that they have made him gain weight and will no longer eat them with me.” Sinclair sighed. He couldn't blow off Delenn. That wouldn't be diplomatic.  
“Would you like some tea with that?” he offered politely.  
“Yes, thank you.” She looked around as she sat down in the chair. “I have never been in your quarters before. What is that on the wall?”  
“It's an antique from about three hundred years ago when there was an airplane fuel company called Sinclair.”  
“An airplane?”  
“A primitive kind of flyer kept aloft by the upward thrust exerted by the passing air on its fixed wings.” He came over with two cups and a ceramic pot.  
“Oh, a fl'ern. On my world, as you may know, things from the past are highly valued. The Temple in Tuzanor, the city where Valen lived, for example, has a chalice used by him, kept where all can see it.”  
“Are there a lot of Valen's things around?” Sinclair asked, pouring the tea.  
“Not many on public display. But in his house everything he owned awaits his eventual return.”  
“Do you really believe that? That a man from a thousand years ago is going to reappear?”  
“But of course. There are a finite number of Minbari souls which live and then die and then will be resurrected again into the next generations. Valen could be among us even now,” she said, looking intently at him. “That is why the death of a loved one, while mourned deeply, does not frighten us. Souls travel together over the ages. We all meet again in another place, another time.” Sinclair had to look away. “I am sorry; I have troubled you when I meant to give you comfort. There has been no word of her?”  
“No. It's been three weeks now.” He glanced at her. “Look, Delenn, I know you mean well, but I just don't want to talk about it any more ...”  
“Then we will sit here quietly together and enjoy our tea and donuts.” With anyone else, that would have been an uncomfortable proposition, but Sinclair had nine hours of practice sitting silently with Delenn. To his surprise he found it not just tolerable, but somehow reassuring and certainly better than the endless encouraging chatter his Human friends subjected him to. After about an hour, he found he wanted to talk.  
“Delenn, don't answer this if it's too personal, but have you ever been married?”  
“There are some fifty rituals one must complete in order to permanently bind oneself to another for life. I have never had the time to so engage myself.”  
“Any of them involve arguing?” Sinclair half-smiled, “if so Catherine and I have performed those to perfection.”  
“There is one ritual that teaches how to have a disagreement with a partner in a harmonious way.”  
“Nope. Never did that one. Delenn, she and I have known each other for a long, long time, but it's only now that things seemed to be falling into place. I was thinking about waiting a couple of months, well, to be honest, build up my courage for a couple of months, and ask her to marry me. And now she's gone.”  
“I understand. The Universe works itself in many complex ways, but none of them seem to be fair.”  
“Yes, that's it exactly. How do you keep it from driving you crazy?”  
“It is difficult. But people are put in the right places at the right time to fulfill their individual destinies. Perhaps you are destined to spend your life with her in another time and place.”  
“But how do you survive in the meanwhile?”  
“Faith manages.” Sinclair contemplated that for a long time before answering.  
“I've lost my faith,” he admitted.  
“Then you must search for it again. Retrace your steps to the moment you left it behind and pick it back up.”  
“You make it sound easy.”  
“No, it is never easy. Matters of the soul are the deepest and most difficult things we face. The journey may take many years. Even a lifetime.”  
“What if you never make it back?”  
“Then one is still closer to the goal than when one began.”  
“You seem more spiritually content than anyone I've ever known, Delenn. What's your secret?”  
“There is no secret,” she laughed. “Before coming here I spent most of my life in Temple studying these topics. It is only with practice that things begin to 'fall into place' as you say. And I believe you are more practiced than you think.”  
“That's flattering, but no.”  
“You say that because you are in a dark place. When you emerge into the starlight you will see that I am correct.”  
“Maybe. That day seems lightyears away.”  
“Valen said that 'loss is an opportunity for gain.' I think of that often when I am discomforted. Perhaps it will resonate for you as well.”  
“On Earth there's a philosophy that says 'failure is an opportunity.' Similar, I think.”  
“There are many ways in which our cultures are alike. Not on the surface, but in spiritual ways.” Sinclair nodded.  
“It floored me when Lennier said that prayer.”  
“It did not surprise me when you said it.”  
“Well there you have the difference between you and I. Thank you, Delenn, for sitting here and just letting me be. Everyone else wants to change what I'm feeling but you've just given me another way to think about it all. I appreciate that.”  
“I have heard a Human phrase: 'then my work here is done?' I will leave you now to let you be.” Sinclair gave her a half-smile and led her to the door. They bowed to one another and then she was gone. Belatedly, he noticed she'd left the rest of the donuts behind. He looked around the room and then decided it was time to finally face his empty bed.

XXX

The door swung open abruptly and two of the raiders stepped into the room where Sakai was confined.  
“Alright, this is it. Remember, you're going to follow our instructions to the letter or some very fatal things are going to happen to you and Sinclair. Got it?” Sakai nodded mutely in resignation. “Hands behind your back.” She submitted without any struggle, seemingly broken. “Alright, move it.” They marched her through their encampment and then outside, where they all slowed down from the lack of oxygen. Eventually they reached a landing strip where an almost unrecognizable Skydancer stood. There was nothing to it – it was just a basic bare-bones ship with the name and serial number erased from the hull. There were piles to either side of the strip where all the specialized equipment that made it a surveyor's ship lay. “This is what it takes to finally shut you up, eh?” Bill mocked. It was a difficult sight to see. Insurance, she reminded herself, you're current on your insurance. Stay focused on the goal; defeating them before they reached Babylon 5.  
“Climb aboard,” ordered the other man, and as she expected they brought her over to the bed and commanded her to lay down, then strapped her in tightly. With her hands behind her back she couldn't release the restraints. Everything was going according to plan. The two men exchanged some whispered words, one of them left and then Bill climbed into the seat at the controls and buckled himself in.  
“Okay,” Bill said with a glance back at her. “Next stop, Babylon 5.”

XXX

“Commander? Commander Sinclair!”  
“I'm sorry, Ambassador. You were saying?”  
“What is Earth's position on this matter? If you're not going to pay attention, Commander, then I see no point in continuing these negotiations!”  
“My apologies, Ambassador G'Kar. I'm a bit distracted ...”  
“Haven't you heard, you barbarian? His woman is missing. Leave it to a Narn to have no sensitivity where matters of the heart are concerned,” Londo Mollari expounded. “They are incapable of higher thought and real emotions,” he pretended to be saying to Sinclair while staring at G'Kar to see how irritated his remarks had made him.  
“As if your people were capable of feeling sensitivity or regret! Before the Centauri ravaged our world ...”  
“Ambassador,” Sinclair cut in, looking to G'Kar. “Ambassador,” he said with a frustrated glance at Londo. “These negotiations have nothing to do with anyone's feelings; let's concentrate on the facts. Earth's position is to remain neutral on these matters, but I'm sure we can reach some sort of mutually agreeable settlement ...”  
“There is no such thing to the Centauri, they seek only to conquer and ruin ...”  
“Pah!” Londo said, getting up from his seat at the conference table. “There can be no reasoning with such nonsensical creatures! We Centauri hereby withdraw from these futile proceedings.” He swept away from the table and towards the door. Sinclair rose to try to stop him.  
“Ambassador Mollari ...” he implored.  
“If the Centauri will not acknowledge that their crimes led to this entire crisis, then we Narns abandon these talks forthwith!” G'Kar too stormed from the room. Sinclair dropped back into his seat and looked up at the ceiling with despair. If only he'd been able to stay focused, they might have come to an agreement over what were really minor matters. But he couldn't stay focused; he kept thinking of Garibaldi's words about maintaining hope for three weeks. It had been nearly four weeks and he was no closer to solving the mystery of Catherine's whereabouts than he'd been on day five. How long was he going to hold out before concluding once and for all that she was dead? A month? Three months? A year? Forever? The uncertainty was weighing so heavily on him that he could no longer get his job done. Helpless, he had told Garibaldi. Now he was past helplessness and had moved on to ineffectiveness. That made him even angrier. He'd become a ball of conflicting emotions, which in and of itself infuriated him. It was too much like how he'd felt after the War; the only other time he'd felt so out of control. Before he'd let his attention drift, he'd been moments away from knocking the Ambassadors' heads together. Now he was just mad at himself.

“So that went well,” Garibaldi said as he meandered into the room.  
“I got them to agree,” Sinclair asserted, “they agreed to walk out on the talks. It was my fault this time.”  
“Eh, this place is always a pot about to boil over. You know that.”  
“Now I'm the damned pot.”  
“Well maybe this will help simmer you down. The raiders just struck a transport ship that left from here. Incredibly, the co-pilot managed to escape in a life pod, but not before the raiders boarded the ship and took it over. The Minbari found him and picked him up. The survivor says they were between deliveries with no cargo aboard, that the raiders seemed to know it, and they didn't care. He says they got what they wanted and what they wanted was the ship itself.”  
“The ship?”  
“Uh huh. The Skydancer's a pretty expensive ship, isn't it?”  
“Catherine poured all her savings into it for a long time.”  
“But wait, there's more. The co-pilot says they were surprisingly interested in the crew – where they came from, who they knew. Seems the pilot is first cousin to some Senator back home. They took him away in one of their own ships.” Sinclair's eyes widened.  
“Have any demands been made?”  
“Not yet. It's like they're trying to build up the suspense … and the desperation.”  
“Where did this happen?”  
“One guess.”  
“Damocles Sector? Get me the coordinates from that attack,” Sinclair demanded, slipping out of his jacket and starting for the door. “I'm taking Delta Wing. If they're anywhere near that last attack, I'll find 'em.”

XXX 

Three days of imprisonment in her own bunk and Sakai was beyond pain and frustration and ready for action. She wanted them to get as far away enough that they'd pass through the jumpgate so she'd know where she was and how to get back to Babylon 5. The tension was fierce and she could only imagine Sinclair was at least as anxious on his end. She'd been away so long; she only hoped he hadn't given up hope of seeing her again, though she wouldn't blame him if he had. As best as she could calculate, it had been at least a month. For all he knew, she was dead. It was a reasonable conclusion. She wondered what she would think if their positions were reversed. Although of course if Sinclair had gone missing, it would be a major political event and there would probably be a fleet out looking for him. He had no fleet to send for her, but he had a Starfury. If he hadn't given up, he'd be looking for her. She turned her attention back to the situation at hand. She paused to repeat in her mind the words she'd need to recite, then mumbled them quietly and as rapidly as she could while still being intelligible. Any minute now, she thought, any minute.

XXX

“Delta Six, you're my wingman. You've all got schematics of the ship we're looking for but remember we don't know what condition it is in at this time. If we encounter any raider fighters, break and attack. But do not, I repeat, do not destroy any larger ships or shuttles. Disable only; there may be hostages.”  
“Roger that, Delta Leader,” he heard eight times.  
“Prepare for drop.” Sinclair was excited. For the first time in a month he could do something. Even if it turned out to be an unsuccessful mission, at least he was taking action instead of suffering through endless waiting. And even under these conditions, he had to admit that any excuse to take a Starfury squadron out for a run was more than welcome. 

Once in space, the hours ticked by uneventfully. It was a long haul he was taking his team on and the most important thing was that everyone remained awake and alert. So he didn't object when his helmet filled with idle chatter. In fact it was the first normal thing he'd experienced in weeks.  
“... and that hump on the Pak'ma'ra's back, that's no hump. That's its mate.”  
“No way!”  
“You lie, Delta Two.”  
“It's true,” Sinclair chimed in, “I saw it once in Medlab.”  
“Roger that, Delta Leader. I told you so, Delta Seven.”  
“Alright, well what about those Minbari headbones? Do they grow like that or do they shape 'em?”  
“Whatd'ya mean 'shape them,' Delta Four?”  
“With a file or a hacksaw or something?”  
“Who's gonna take a hacksaw to their own head?”  
“I dunno, who's gonna sleep with a teddy bear?”  
“It's my kid's, alright? She made me promise.”  
“It's nobody's business who or what Delta Seven sleeps with,” Sinclair admonished, “but I hear it's lavender and fluffy.” His team bawled with laughter.  
“Okay, here's one. How many Vorlons does it take to change a … hang on, what's that?”  
“Acquiring target. It's a raider fighter!”  
“He's mine!” Sinclair declared decisively, breaking formation to pursue, with Delta Six on his tail. “Unidentified ship, this is Commander Sinclair of Babylon 5. Surrender or be destroyed. I repeat surrender or … not,” he finished as the other ship flipped and fired at him. “Computer, lock onto unidentified vessel's air foils. Fire on my mark,” he ordered as he flew into position. “Fire!” With a single well-placed round of gunfire, Sinclair destroyed the enemy ship. He returned to formation. “Alright, everyone be on heightened alert; that may not be their only ship.”  
“Roger, Delta Leader.” The squadron continued on. 

XXX

Sakai fought off drowsiness and decided her captor must be feeling the same way. That made it a good time to attack.  
“Computer, voice recognize Catherine Sakai,” she yelled rapidly, “reset default language to Adronoto.”  
“What are you doing?” the raider Bill roared, unbuckling himself from his seat. This was going better than expected. “Countermand last order! Countermand!”  
“Computer,” she instructed in Minbari, “safety override! On my mark, open hatch doors for thirty seconds!” Unable to understand her commands, Bill pushed off the chair and headed for her, drawing his PPG. “Mark!” She exhaled forcefully to keep her lungs from rupturing. Almost instantly upon the doors opening, the moisture in her eyes and mouth boiled off and she began to swell. Within ten seconds, she began to feel the excruciating pain of the bends. Meanwhile her attacker was not so lucky. Unprepared for her surprise attack, and thus unsecured to the ship, he was swept out into the cold vacuum of space at some four hundred miles an hour. Still alert as the massive UV radiation burned his flesh and his lungs tore. In a few more seconds later hypoxia and cyanosis set in and he finally fell unconscious and died. Sakai herself was going down the same path – her ears pounded with pressure, she began to lose her vision and her nose and lips almost froze, but then the hatch closed and the generators sent breathable air back into the cabin. She gasped in relief. Although still unable to free herself, she could verbally control her ship. “Reset default language to standard English. Computer, what is our current course?”  
“Course set to Babylon 5.”  
“Our location?”  
“Sector 919. Twenty hours from Grid Epsilon.”  
“Good. Good. Computer, send the following transmission: Mayday, mayday, this is the Earth survey ship Skydancer. Request assistance from any ship in Euphrates Sector. Repeat: mayday, mayday, this is the Earth survey ship Skydancer. Request assistance from any ship in Euphrates Sector.” She settled back in her bunk, aching all over her body but finally a free woman. Now it was time to wait again.

XXX

It was just a matter of time before Delta Wing encountered the body sweeping past them, and Sinclair had a painful flashback to seeing his comrades' mutilated bodies fly by at the Battle of The Line. It was moving too fast for any of them to identify the gender of the body, but shortly afterwards they began to pick up Sakai's distress call. At first when they came upon the ship they weren't even sure it was the Skydancer as it was so altered in appearance, but once Sinclair made direct contact with Sakai he was able to affirm both that she was alive and that it was her ship. Delta Wing surrounded it and accompanied it back to Babylon 5. Once they arrived there, Sinclair grappled hold of the Skydancer and towed it safely into the docking bay. There Sakai ordered the hatch doors opened again and Sinclair, still in his pressure suit, and Garibaldi hurried over to Sakai and worked to set her free. Finally released from her bonds, she fell into Sinclair's arms. 

Like her ship, she was barely recognizable. Her wrists were particularly swollen and bloody almost down to the bone from the weeks she'd spent in metal restraints. There were giant bruises all over her body and broken capillaries in her eyes, and her nose and lips were a waxy white with frostbite, but to Sinclair, she was a beautiful sight to see.  
“I had to space him,” she whispered to him, “I had no choice. I had to space him.”  
“It's alright, you did what you had to do,” he assured her in a low, calm voice, holding onto her tightly.  
“Don't you understand, Jeff? I've never killed anyone before, I ...” her voice took on an agitated tone.  
“You're in good hands now,” Dr. Franklin said, cutting into both their conversation and between the two lovers. “You're going to be just fine,” he insisted as he directed his medical team around with his hands. They pulled her away from Sinclair and placed her on a stretcher. Sinclair tossed his helmet to Garibaldi and followed the team to Medlab. Sakai was still distraught and crying over what she had done.  
“But I killed him, Jeff, I killed a man!” she repeated. Sinclair didn't know what to say; he'd long since lost track of the number of people who were dead by his hand, both during the War and in incidents in and around Babylon 5. But Sakai of course, was no soldier. While he debated a response, Franklin injected her with a sedative.  
“This isn't like her at all,” Sinclair worried, “is she going to be okay?”  
“It's simple shock. We'll treat that along with the rest of her injuries. Am I to understand her ship was opened to space at one point?”  
“It seems so.”  
“That would explain all her injuries. She must have been exhaling at precisely the moment the doors opened or she wouldn't be alive at all. She's a very lucky woman. But there's nothing for you to worry about,” he assured Sinclair. “Go ahead and change, Commander, she's going to be out for a while.”

Later, when Sakai awoke in MedLab, dosed up on painkillers, she was able to explain her escape more calmly, though the weight of her actions still weighed heavily on her.  
“That was good thinking, changing the language so he couldn't countermand you.” Sinclair said with admiration. “You should have a clear conscience about what you did; who knows what they really intended to do once they got you here. In the end, it probably would have been Garibaldi or I who took him out instead; same ending, different players.”  
“It's just something I never thought I'd have to do. I never even killed anyone during the War. At first I actually wanted them to bring me here, but when they found out about our connection, they threatened to have you killed. They bragged about having a lot of confederates here, I didn't know what to believe … there's someone in Security they're blackmailing and there has to be someone in Ops they got my flight plan from ...”  
“Garibaldi's already investigating. We'll find them. With your okay, we'll pull the records from the Skydancer and trace your path back to their base. Then we'll forward that info along to one of Earth's heavy cruisers and they can deal with making arrests and destroying the base. It's just out of practical reach for us to do it.”  
“Of course – go ahead. I want to see them pay for what they did to my ship.” Sinclair looked a little confused.  
“What about what they did to you?”  
“Dr. Franklin says I should make a complete recovery, but it's going to take weeks to collect the insurance money and then repurchase and reinstall all my equipment. I'm gonna lose a lot of money being out of work all that time,” she complained indignantly. Sinclair shook his head with a smile.  
“So how do you feel?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed and carefully taking her hand.  
“Okay right now, but I can't stay on painkillers forever. When it happened I was so focused on getting through it alive that the pain didn't even register, but afterwards … hard to say what's worse – the bends or the frostbite.” She looked up into his eyes. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”  
“I was afraid I'd never see you again.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, avoiding her frostbitten lips. “But I should have known you could take care of yourself.”  
“Well, I guess this time I'm glad you got worried and came to look for me. It was a close call.” She paused for a minute. “How do I look?”  
“To me or to anyone else?” Sinclair smiled.  
“Objectively.”  
“Terrible. Like you'd been exposed to the vacuum of space.”  
“Imagine that.”  
“I'm just so glad you're back,” he remarked unguardedly. “I was beginning to despair of ever seeing you again,” he admitted quietly so only she could hear him.  
“I thought about you all the time, wondering how you were handling my disappearance,” Sinclair lowered his eyes.  
“Not so well. After Garibaldi came back from the Vedit system without finding you … I didn't know where to look. I felt so powerless.”  
“That's not a good place for you to be.”  
“No, it's not.”  
“How did you figure out where I was?”  
“They struck again and seized another ship. We backtracked to where we thought they'd come from and there you were. We got lucky.” A comfortable silence fell over the two. Sinclair continued to hold her hand and look at her with love as she fell back to sleep.  
“Visiting hours are over, Commander,” Dr. Franklin informed him. Sinclair nodded absently, not moving.  
“How long are you going to keep her here?”  
“Well, I'd like to have her here for observation for at least the next five days,” he looked over at Sinclair's displeased expression. “But I suppose you'll keep your eye on her as well as I can. Let's give it three days and we'll reassess her condition then. It'll be months though, before the frostbite either heals or gets worse, but we've done all we can on that score for now.”  
“What about her wrists?”  
“Again, it's just going to take time. Hello, Mr. Garibaldi.”  
“Hey. Just wanted to see how she's doing.”  
“Well you're both going to have to come back tomorrow. She needs her rest.” Reluctantly, Sinclair stood up.  
“Come on; I'll buy you dinner,” Garibaldi offered.  
“Ho ho. Garibaldi paying for dinner? I'd act fast, Commander, before he changes his mind.”  
“Alright,” Sinclair said with a last look at Sakai. He nodded his head to Garibaldi and they walked out into the hall. “Where are we going to celebrate?”  
“I'm thinking McBari's.”  
“McBari's? You're just saying that so I'll say we should go someplace nicer, hoping I'll pay.”  
“Commander, I'm insulted.”  
“The hell you are. Let's at least go to the diner; the food there doesn't all ooze grease.”  
“Grease is the best part,” Garibaldi insisted. He got a good look at his friend. “So is everything gonna be alright now?”  
“Yeah,” Sinclair nodded with a smile. “Hey Mike,” he said, standing still for a moment. “Thanks for what you said last week. It meant a lot.”  
“Eh, it was nothing,” Garibaldi insisted as they resumed their walk. “Just remind me never to get on your bad side; I've never seen a punching bag come apart like that before.” Sinclair smiled sheepishly.  
“Yeah, well, a lot of old, bad memories got stirred up. Like you said, sometimes the past is best off staying in the past.”

XXX

“Welcome home,” Sinclair said to Sakai as they entered his quarters a few days later. He turned on the lights.  
“I've missed this place,” she said looking around. Her eyes stopped at the coffee table which was littered with tea cups, liquor glasses, a wine glass and a tall stack of white boxes. “What's with all the boxes of donuts?” she asked innocently. Sinclair laughed.  
“It's a long story. Let's get you back to bed like we promised Franklin, and I'll tell you all about it.”


End file.
